


The Dragon and the Unicorn

by pat_t



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-14
Updated: 2012-06-14
Packaged: 2017-11-07 17:23:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/433582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pat_t/pseuds/pat_t
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Methos gets a tattoo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dragon and the Unicorn

**Author's Note:**

> A few years ago Peter Wingfield guest starred on an episode of Bliss, introducing his fans to a dragon tattoo he had on his butt cheek. Of course, fandom immediately began speculating if Methos had said tattoo since it was placed prior to season six. This resulted in a "Methos dragon tattoo" story challenge. This is my entry, although it was never officially entered in the challenge.

  


Part One:

Methos pulled his coat collar up around his ears, and shivered against the damp mustiness of Seacouver's inelegant streets. Definitely not the best part of town, he mused, the streets strewn with litter, the stench of unwashed bodies and urine soaking up the atmosphere in waves. The graying darkness of the sky and drizzling rain did nothing to lighten the mood of the immortal slinking down the cracked and beaten sidewalk, silently ignoring the stares of the bums who watched with dead eyes as he passed their outstretched hands. An occasional streetwalker would confidently sway towards him, her makeup crusted face sorely hiding the vestige of time and abuse. A hard stare from the wandering man would cause them all to stop and retreat, chilled from the icy warning shot their way.

"Bloody hell," he thought . "Bloody perfect.” The darkness matched his mood, however, and he ambled on, looking for an outlet for his pain and frustration as only a walk among the dark and undesirables could give him.

The evening had started out well enough. He had met Mac at Joe's as they had agreed to do earlier that week. Both his friends had been there when he arrived. The bar was bustling with the chatter and laughter of people, blending perfectly with the strong heady sounds of the blue's band playing in the background. The subdued lights and smoke hazed air added to the aura surrounding the men as they sipped their whiskey and shared light hearted conversation. Methos had spent most of the night shooting casual and not so casual glances at Mac, who was sitting back lazily in his chair and watching the band play. Occasionally, Mac would turn and acknowledge his appraisal, letting his brown eyes reflect the smile on his lips. That would usually result in a quick retreat of Methos' gaze, leaving him to shift uneasily under his friend's scrutiny. Methos knew he was walking dangerously close to the edge of losing control of his feelings for the Scot. He had harbored a deep seated lust for his friend for years, a lust fueled by unrequited desires and burning daydreams of strong masculine sex and power.

He had kept his feelings in check, closely guarding his thoughts and actions when he was around his friend. But, he had been in town too long this time, spending too much time with the Highlander, and he felt his resolve fraying quickly within himself. If he knew his friend could share his feelings, he would open up his heart and allow the other man access. If only....

"Adam?" Joe prompted, pointing an index finger and nudging his arm.

"Hmmph?" he answered, startled out of his contemplation. He heard Mac laugh from the other side of the table and felt himself heat up, knowing he was blushing.

"Where'd you go, buddy?" Joe asked while Mac interjected at the same time.

"Yeah, aren't we entertaining enough for you?"

"No, it's ..." he stammered, only to be interrupted by a tall blonde who had glided up to their table. Methos looked up at the thin, willowy female, appreciating the way her red dress hugged every line of her tanned body when she slipped around his chair. Then Mac was standing, a smile splitting his face, and his arms taking in the female with an affectionate hug.

"Kim," he sang happily while a returned, "Duncan" was uttered into his shoulder.

Suddenly, the bar became too confining, and Methos felt the constraining bands of depression wrapping around his mind. He left, knowing Joe's astute eyes were watching his hasty departure while Mac was oblivious to his friend's sudden withdrawal.

Now Methos was walking along a crude sidewalk, taking in the grimy storefronts, intermingled with the occasional 'xxx' signifying more lustful wares within. He put his hand on a filthy door, preparing to push and enter, allowing himself the sinful indulgence of decadence to replace his heartbreak, when his eye caught the flashing orange sign reflected in the smeared glass. Turning, he spotted the small store possessing the sign -- "Tattoo".

"Hmm," he smiled, and switched direction to the dirty little building. The door jingled with his entrance, alerting someone in the back of his arrival. He narrowed his eyes and looked around the dark smelly room. The concrete floor was filthy and strewn with debris. He noted several tables littered with various needles and inks. The walls were cluttered with tattoos of every size, shape and description.

"Can I help you ?" a gravelly voice came from the back room.

Methos turned in time to see a squat, fat man with a greasy face shuffle towards him. He was obviously short of breath, wheezing against the effort of walking, either from his excess weight or the huffing from the cigarette hanging indelicately from his lips. Methos looked down and spied the greasy blackened hands as the man wiped them on filthy trousers and stepped forward to address him.

Methos purposefully put his hands in his pockets as the man outstretched a hand to shake, and noted with a silent smirk when the hand was quickly withdrawn.

"I was just looking at your tattoos," he delivered with a mild Welsh accent, inclining his head at the crowded walls.

The man was clearly inventorying him, Methos noted, taking in his tall, well-built stature, expensive clothes and implied culture. "Yeah, everything you see here. I can do it all," he replied with greedy expectation.

"Uh-huh," came back the thoughtful reply as Methos shifted through the room, examining the displayed tattoos. He didn't want a tattoo, but something about the filthy parlor and fat little owner spoke of a decadence long denied, and he shuddered with anticipation of the needle piercing his skin over and over while ink melted into its layers, marking him with a reminder of this night and his own wishful delusions for eternity.

"How long will the ink stay viable?" he asked with a sudden twist of his head towards the man following him.

"Uh, as long as you'll want it to. Probably all your life." 

Methos silently chuckled at the irony of that statement and silently debated which tattoo would merge with his mood; to remind him of his need and the emptiness of his life when that need would never be met. The damn Highlander, he sighed to himself. That damn brat. Lover, protector, clan chieftain. Everyone's damn knight in shining armor. Everyone's but him, he mused.

He could feel the tears spilling in his mind, crying in the deep part of himself he kept closed off from everyone. Then he spotted it – a dragon -- wings outstretched, breathing fire, and an evil thought flicked through his mind.

‘I'll be your dragon, Duncan. You can be my knight and slay me anytime, anywhere.’ He let his fingers trace the delicate design of the colors, and knew, even as the thought flittered across his mind, that it was a fallacy because the Highlander had already taken him in every way that mattered. Everyway except what he craved most. For his knight already had his heart and his soul. The fact that he didn't know it made no difference. If Mac would only let Methos show him how he felt physically, he knew he could give him everything he craved. "No, you've already slayed me, Duncan. I'm your dragon."

Instead of voicing his internal thoughts, he turned to the expectant man and stated instead, "this one."

"The dragon?" a smile showed missing and rotting teeth as the cigarette was finally dislodged from the orifice.

"Yes, the dragon."

"Where do you want it?" he asked over his shoulder while accumulating the supplies he needed to accomplish his task.

"Where?" Methos asked blankly.

"Yeah, man. You want the tattoo? Where do you want it?"

"Oh," Methos thought to himself. Well, he certainly wasn't going to put the damn thing where Mac could see it. It was obvious the annoyingly heterosexual Scot would never return his feelings and he'd be damned if he ever let him know the extent of his pathetic yearnings. No, the tattoo was a symbol of his own private desires and would remain that way forever. Smiling sadly, he picked the one place he knew the Scot wouldn't be privy to.

"My ass," he answered with conviction. "Put it on my ass."

"All right man. Drop your pants."

Methos tried to squirm into a comfortable position on the hard, lightly padded brown bench. He gave silent thanks that he was immortal while the tattoo artist prepared his inks. Otherwise, he would surely get a nasty infection from the filthy conditions surrounding them. The man seemed unconcerned about the risks as he grabbed the needle and started puncturing without first preparing the skin.

Methos winced with the first sting of the sharp needle as it slid under his skin and injected the ink. He tried to relax and let the pain settle from his mind, focusing on the pain in his right buttock instead. He embraced the pain willingly and let his thoughts float. Unsurprisingly, his mind drifted to the face of the Highland child. In his mind they laid wrapped in each other's arms on Duncan's large bed. He let his senses take over, smelling the clean manliness of the lover in his arms, feeling the rippling muscles under his fingertips. He looked up into large brown eyes and soaked up the love he saw reflected there. He felt the warm lips take his and a velvety tongue invade his mouth. He sucked in the heat and met it with his own. He could taste the Highlander, savoring every sensation as it presented. He felt the warm hand squeeze a buttock before sliding in-between his cheeks, skimming his most personal place.

Then a sharp odor permeated his dream and he awakened to reality with a start. He felt the stinging pain of the needle while registering the other hand that was pushing between his cheeks. ‘Bloody idiot,’ he gritted between clenched teeth, jerking suddenly with the knowledge, and dislodging the offending hand.

The tattoo artist cursed under his breath when his customer jerked, not only dislodging the hand sneaking pleasures, but also the hand inserting the needle into the perfectly rounded buttock he was marking. He felt the needle break off under the skin and cursed again.

"What is it?" Methos asked, while shivering in repulsion at the thought of the man's hand touching him so personally.

"Nothing," the man lied, having no intention of letting his customer know the broken end of a dirty needle was embedded under his skin. He took a new needle and continued his ministrations, moving his other hand back to the bench.

Methos turned on the lights in his apartment, absently rubbing at the tender, stinging skin on his ass. He shivered again, remembering the hand that had touched him in that private place -- that place he was aching to have Mac touch. He closed his eyes again and shivered, imagining Mac's fingers rimming him sensuously, feeling a tongue dart out to flick across his sensitive entrance. He groaned before falling back against the door, cursing himself for his weakness and wincing at the pain that throbbed from his right buttock.

Grabbing the bottle of Scotch from its shelf, he began to drink, willing away the pain from his mind with the unconsciousness from a good solid drunk.

~~~~~~

He woke early, surprised at the amount of pain he was still experiencing. Immortal healing should have long healed the wounds from the tattoo needle. But his skin was sore , the pain increasing in intensity with the slightest whisper of pressure against it. Scooting up in his chair, he disengaged the back from touching his skin and frowned. An infection perhaps. That place was filthy. But, even that should have healed by now, he surmised. He got up and went into the bathroom, slowly drawing down his boxer's and peering into the mirror over his shoulder. He craned his neck painfully, still unable to see the area he needed clearly, and cursed out loud. It was the ringing of the phone that interrupted his cursing, as he lifted his boxers back over his hips and returned to the kitchen. 

"Pierson."

"Adam, it's Mac."

Fuck, Methos swore to himself. Just what he needed. " Mac, what's up?"

"Just calling to remind you about dinner."

“Dinner? " He asked stupidly.

"Yeah, tonight. My place. You're bringing the booze. Remember?"

"Oh, yeah. Right. Tonight. See you then." Fuck, fuck, fuck.

~~~~~~

Mac placed the phone back into its cradle and frowned. What was wrong with Methos? First, he was acting strangely last night and now he seemed, well, distracted. He shook his head and shrugged, unable to dislodge the worrying thoughts filtering through his mind. Truth be known, he really didn't understand much about the other man. So much of what he sensed was confusing, contradicting and frightening. If only he could get a clue about the other's feelings. If only he had the courage to tell him how he felt. How he wanted him.

He had noticed Methos watching him last night. He had smiled, hoping the other man would read his encouragement and offer his own in return. Unfortunately, the hazel eyes always shifted away quickly and he could never pin down the other man's feelings. He was so close to just grabbing the contrary immortal and kissing him right in front of Joe and everything be damned, when he felt his nervousness overpower his courage, leaving him shaky and sweaty. He had been relieved when Kim came in and distracted him before he made a fool of himself. For, in his mind's eye, he saw himself kissing the old immortal, followed by the scene of the oldest immortal knocking him on his ass.

Oh yeah, Kim's arrival had been a blessing. 

~~~~~~

Methos hopped from one foot to the next, trying to relieve the pressure on his butt from his jeans. He was going to kill that tattoo artist --- slowly, if he ever healed. He knocked on Mac's door, swearing dire consequences until the door swung open, admitting him to the loft. He handed Mac the Scotch he had brought, at the same time sucking in a deep breath at the beauty of the other immortal. Mac had dressed casually in jeans and a blue shirt, but left his hair undone, flowing gently against his shoulders.

Mac glanced back at his guest who was still standing in his doorway and smiled, "coming in?"

Methos smiled back, sliding one foot in front of the other painfully. "Yeah, I'm coming." He relaxed when Mac turned away from him momentarily and winced with severe pain while he made his way to the couch. He eased himself down slowly, cursing under his breath as a new throbbing burst from the site.

Mac frowned, his brows knitting together tightly. He had watched Methos walking to the couch as if he was in considerable pain and now he was sitting as if it hurt his ass to touch the couch. "Methos?"

"Hmmm?" he jerked his head around quickly at the sound of his name.

"Is everything okay?" Mac asked gently while placing a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Sure. Uh, Mac, mind if I have a drink? Really not hungry right now."

"Okay, sure. A drink. " Mac stood and retrieved the bottle and two glasses. He handed one to Methos, staring transfixed as the oldest immortal turned it up and emptied it in one swallow.

One glass followed the other until both men were beginning to feel the effects of intoxication. Mac felt the comfortable buzz in his head, while watching his friend squirm on the couch, redistributing the pressure from one buttock to the next. He was beginning to feel giddy, laughing out loud when he could no longer control the silent question. "Methos, do you have something up your ass?”

Methos glared at him, trying to speak through the swimming in his own head." What are ya talking about?" he slurred.

"You," Mac laughed and pointed. "You're squirming around like you have something stuck up your ass."

Methos gave him a deadly stare and attempted to speak in his most threatening tone of voice. “I.Do.Not.Have.Anything.In.My.Arse."

"Oh," and Mac giggled again. They poured another glass and drank silently with Methos continuing to squirm and wince against the pain. He saw Mac watching him with amusement, and became irrationally angry.

"Fine," he shouted drunkenly, almost falling as he stood. "You want to know what's wrong with me? I'll show you." Mac watched stunned as Methos jerked open his jeans and yanked them down. He turned abruptly, falling forward on the couch, and thrusting his ass into the air.

Mac jumped up to catch him when the tattoo caught his eye. He reached out to touch it with gentle fingertips while Methos balanced himself precariously with jeans pulled down to his knees.

"Methos? " Mac asked in awe.

"There, you see, Highlander. That's why I can't sit."

"When? How? I mean....." and Mac frowned, noticing the swelling and redness at the site. "Methos, when did you have this done?"

"Last night, " he slurred, attempting to turn his head to see his buttock. He could feel Mac's concern and tensed. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know. It's red and swollen. It's not healing. Come over to the bed and lie down."

He assisted Methos to walk to the bed, registering the comic sight of the man taking tiny steps with his pants down around his knees and his buttocks pinched together to minimize the pain from the movement. He was none too steady himself but made it across the room without incident.

Methos laid down across the bed on his stomach while Mac sat beside him. He placed a hand on the injured flesh, lightly tracing the dragon. Frowning, he felt the needle under the skin and cursed.

"What?" Methos shifted to look at Duncan’s face.

"It looks like whoever did this left you a souvenir. Wait here." He retreated to the bathroom, bringing out his first aid kit. He cleaned a needle and tweezers with alcohol before digging out the offending item. Successful, he placed the tiny metal in his hand and presented it to his friend.

"That bloody bastard," Methos shouted, outraged.

Mac watched while blue flecks of energy danced across the dragon, healing the skin and bringing the dragon to life.

"Methos," he said awed, and once again lightly caressed the tattoo. "Why did you do this?"

Methos buried his head in the bed covers and groaned. Shit.

"Methos?"

Taking a deep breath, he willed the alcohol to do its job and felt his inhibitions drop away. "Why? Because I bloody well can't have what I want, that's why!"

Mac heard the distress coming from his friend and winced. It had yet to occur to him that he was still caressing the tattoo -- a tattoo which was housed on that firm muscular buttock of his male friend. The male friend he had been lusting after since he had met him. The male friend he had been too frightened to tell.

"What do you want, Methos? " he asked softly, only to hear a groan in return. "What do you want?" he repeated.

"You, okay? You, highlander," he shouted. Embarrassed, he attempted to shift himself up and off the bed, only to have two hundred pounds of male suddenly holding him down.

"What do you mean, Methos? Talk to me."

Methos attempted to push the other man off, but gave up when he saw it was useless. He sighed loudly, closing his eyes against the apparition hovering over him. "I'm in love with you. I want you."

Mac sucked in a deep breath and searched the face below him. Smiling to himself, he bent over and whispered to the other man. "Open your eyes, Methos."

He watched the hazel eyes open and focus before he continued. “I love you too. I was just too afraid to tell you."

"You were?"

Mac laughed at the slurred speech, hearing the doubt in his friend’s voice. "Yes. I was. But, why the tattoo? A dragon?"

"Oh," and Methos' face turned red while his lips pressed firmly together.

"Oh, no. You're not getting off that easy," Mac warned.

Hazel eyes reopened and searched his face, and then his potential lover began to speak. "I saw the dragon, and ... I... thought about you being a knight and slaying dragons....and how you ... had... already slayed me."

If Methos was expecting laughter, Duncan shocked him by taking his mouth in a kiss. Methos opened his lips and let Duncan’s tongue enter, mating it with hiscown, while their taste and scent was devoured by the other. They pulled apart for only a moment, searching one another's face, and finding what each man needed. Mac gently turned the other man on his stomach. He lovingly touched the tattoo, tracing it with his fingertips. He bent down and placed his mouth over the dragon, flicking out his tongue and licking it with quick little laps. He heard Methos moan and smiled.

Oh yes. This is what he wanted. He removed his clothes quickly before assisting Methos with his half discarded jeans. He slid up the reclining body, dropping a quick kiss on the dragon on the way, before covering his lover completely. "I want you," he whispered in his ear.

"Then take me, " was growled back impatiently . He turned the man back over and possessed his mouth once again, feeling the heat from their bodies ignite. They flicked each other's nipples, feeling the responding hardening of the little nubs from the stimulation.

They were both hard and needy, panting with their desire. Duncan grabbed the lube from the bedside table and silently questioned his partner.

"Take me," Methos answered, understanding the other man's unstated desires.

Mac kissed him again before gently turning him. He was kissed on the back of his neck when he felt the brush of hot breath and then a sensuous whisper, "I want to ride the dragon."

Methos shivered with anticipation, as Duncan’s hand separated his cheeks and brushed his fingers across his opening. Duncan gently prepared him, fingering him with love and tenderness until the thrusting hips demanded more. He quickly coated his cock, and inserted it into the tight heat, feeling his lover welcome the fullness with his body. They began to thrust, moving in perfect harmony, the dragon moving in mid-flight with the dance of their bodies. Methos touched his cock and stroked, as his lover's cock stroked within him. Then Duncan’s fingertips touched his buttock --- possessing the dragon, and they both came with powerful spasms, crying out gutturally together.

~~~~~~

Mac smoothed back the tousled hair of his lover and smiled. "I can't believe we both wanted the same thing all this time."

"Yeah, I never would have imagined it," Methos sighed against him.

"I guess we owe it to the dragon. Maybe I should get one, a tattoo."

Methos looked up at the Scot to gauge the seriousness of his expression. Really?"

“Sure. Why not?”

"What would you get?"

“I don't know. Maybe a horse."

Whap --- a pillow hit Mac full in the face.

"Okay ,okay," he laughed. "I give, I give ..."

 

Part Two :

Duncan rolled over and smiled, feeling the warm comfort of another body enclosed in his arms. The gentle tickle of soft hair brushed against his cheek, while hard muscles molded perfectly to his own in resounding harmony. Methos. His old friend and new lover. He raised a tentative hand and lightly skimmed an area of his lover's right buttock, tracing by memory the fire breathing dragon tattooed there.

He frowned then, remembering the broken needle left under his lover's skin, and how the sight of the red and painful buttock had incensed him last night. It had only been Methos' admission of love and that tantalizing ass jutting up in the air that had calmed him at the time. But now he was getting angry again with the thought of someone hurting the man he loved.

Methos stirred in his sleep, feeling the tension in Mac's body, and sighed, thinking the big Scot was feeling guilty about their night of lovemaking. He couldn't blame him if he was having second thoughts. After all, they were both drunk at the time, revealing hidden feelings neither had been willing to divulge during saner moments. Frankly, if it hadn't been for the events surrounding his tattoo and the complete loss of his common sense, along with his inhibitions, he probably would have packed up and left within the week. Which he probably should be doing now anyway, judging by the tension he felt radiating from his lover's body.

Methos shifted in Duncan’s arms, and was immediately drawn closer to the other man’s chest. "Morning, sleepy head," Duncan murmured.

Methos felt the tension leave Duncan's body, and shivered within the strong arms hugging him tightly. A kiss ghosted across his shoulder, followed by a warm breath against his ear. "How do you feel about morning sex?"

Methos heard the soft whisper and shivered again, feeling a glide of anticipation and arousal from the softly accented voice. He turned over in the prisoning arms and looked up into the face of the barbarian child, confused by the love and tenderness he saw reflected there.

"You're not sorry?" he whispered back.

"Sorry?" Duncan asked confused, his eyes questioning with concern. Seeing the fear and uncertainty reflected back, he laughed ...."about us? This?" He leaned down and kissed Methos' mouth, not waiting for an answer, instead hoping his own answer could be sensed by the feel of his lips and questing of his tongue. He felt Methos' mouth open and he delved in, determined to take and possess until the ancient had no doubts left about who owned him. Immediately, all doubts were gone, and hunger replaced the void, spiraling both men into a frenzy of need.

Muscular legs wrapped around him, while his nipples quivered against stroking fingers. His mind catalogued every taste of skin, every texture felt with the sure stroke of his fingers, every moan heard with his ears. The musk of arousal filled his nose and his sex throbbed between his legs from the sensual overload. Methos' hardness pressed against his hip, the tickling wetness from its tip mocking his own need, and he let go of the warm haven of his lover's mouth to gasp with the intensity of his sexual desire. He rose up, and once again searched the face of his lover, noting the dilated pupils and swollen lips. He saw a small smirk crease up the sensuous lips playfully and Methos chuckled. “I guess that's a 'no' then?"

Duncan looked at his lover blankly, not understanding the question, and wondering how Methos could still form coherent words. Methos saw his confusion and chuckled again, supplying him with an explanation, "sorry. I asked if you were sorry."

"What do you think?" Duncan growled, and devoured the open mouth once again, silencing everything except their escaping moans.

~~~~~~

Duncan parked in front of the decaying building, wrinkling his nose against the stench, and looked around. After incessant needling, Methos had finally admitted where he had obtained his tattoo. Mac walked purposefully towards the door, noting the grating orange tattoo light flashing on and off with obnoxious intent.

He entered, wiping the grime he had collected from the door onto his jeans and waited for the owner to answer the incoming jingle. In only a matter of seconds, the sweaty form of the man Methos had described shuffled in crudely, stopping abruptly in the middle of the room when he spotted his guest. He swiped the cigarette from his mouth, crushing it under a heavy foot, and brushed a dirty hand across his chest , before reconsidering and dropping it back to his side.

Mac heaved in a deep breath, disgusted with the sights and smells assaulting his senses, and approached him slowly until he was well within the man's personal space. "A friend of mine got a tattoo here two nights ago. A dragon. Perhaps you remember him?"

The owner gulped in obvious fear, as a dribble of sweat rolled down a jowled cheek. Duncan was sure the man could feel his anger and power as he towered over him, and he saw him gulp again. "I....I...didn't mean to...." he gushed in panic, until Mac grabbed him by his grimy tee shirt and hauled him against his own muscular frame.

He was trembling with anger, remembering the red and swollen ass cheek of his partner, further angered by the potential harm to unsuspecting mortals that would not heal as easily as his lover. He squelched the urge to bash the man's head into the nearest wall, instead gritting between clenched jaws, "you didn't mean to?”

The man’s knees began to shake, and he panicked with a flurry of words, "please, mister, I didn't mean to touch him there. It was an accident; my hand slipped when I was trying to hold his cheek still. God, please ..." He started sobbing, seemingly unaware of the perplexed expression forming the other man's face as he babbled.

"What are you ..." and Mac paused, realization clearing a picture in his mind. Then he was consumed by a new rage, jealousy and repulsion twisting his insides with the thought of this slimy creature's hand touching Methos' most private place.

"You bastard. I was talking about the needle you broke off and left in his ass cheek," Mac spat out in disgust while heaving the man against the wall with his weight.

"Shit, oh .... God.... Mister, please," the man trembled while tears formed and spilled on his face.

Mac heard and registered the man's fear; watched the tears fall as rounded shoulders began to shake, and wondered in the back of his own mind if he should feel compassion. But, before he could form an answer, his captive convulsed in sobs against him and emptied his bladder. Mac gulped in deep breaths and tried to settle his own rage, while the smell of the man's fear mingled with the dirt and urine swirling in the air, leaving the heavy weight of nausea in his throat.

He looked at the pathetic sight in front of him and feeling nothing but contempt, heaved the man's weight backwards in disgust, before turning to leave. 

~~~~~~

The cool tiles of the immaculate office stood in stark contrast to the pictures constructing the massive collage of tattoos displayed against them. Mac searched, carefully assessing each design with detached objectivity. He and Methos had been lovers for months now, their six month anniversary only one day away. He wanted to give his lover something special, something personal and lasting to show his feelings. With that in mind, he thought about the dragon Methos wore etched into his right buttock and the symbolism it implied about their love to one another. Every time he saw the dragon on his lover's cheek, his heart had swelled with tenderness. He had spent hours just looking at it, tracing it with his fingers and torturing it with loving licks and kisses. When they made love, he could feel the power in the muscular behind as it moved with each powerful thrust of Methos' hips, bringing the dragon to life only to be soothed with Mac's own powerful fire.

Methos had said Mac was his knight, and every time they loved, Mac felt that power and responsibility to give with everything he possessed until his partner was heaving against him spent and sated. But, then, who was he kidding? Methos slayed him too, in every way that mattered. But -- more than that, his partner had brought laughter back into his life. He made him think, made him smile; made him live again. All that power, all that knowledge in one human being and he was his.

The mythical Methos, a legend, and he smiled. "Just a guy," that's what Methos had said to Joe. And, yes, he was a man -- flesh and blood with human faults, feelings and needs. But he was so much more -- five thousand years old -- mythical --- magical --- special, and he could feel it in every kiss, every touch.

He had joked about getting a tattoo once with Methos -- a horse, he had said. He smiled to himself, remembering the giggles they had shared over that idea. But, no, that was wrong. He needed something as special and mythical as his lover. Something that would clearly convey how much he loved him.

His thoughts were interrupted by a deep baritone behind him. "Mr. MacLeod?"

He turned and acknowledged the short, sandy haired man standing behind him in linen slacks and a lab coat. He offered his hand to shake in acknowledgement while the youngish man verbalized a well-rehearsed and used spiel about the placement of tattoos. Duncan listened closely, delivering appropriate nods when prompted, and continued scanning the display.

"What exactly are you looking for? " the question was asked softly behind him.

“I'm not sure." He glanced back over his shoulder. “Something magical, mythical."

"I see ..." he paused, hoping for an explanation, until it was evident none was forthcoming and he continued. "Well, we have elves, fairies ..." he stopped as a sharp glare was directed his way. "Um," he cleared his throat and pointed ..."a unicorn."

Mac looked up at the beautiful creature rearing back on two graceful hind legs, the front legs lifted and captured in motion, a single horn protruding from its forehead, and wings spread in splendor, ready for flight. A beautiful, mythical creature as graceful and powerful as the man it represented, and Mac made his choice. "There, the unicorn; on my left buttock.”

Mac climbed out of the shower, toweling off with the large bath towel and reached for his clothes. He brought the soft fabric of his boxer's up over his hips, hesitating as the material slid towards the tattoo gracing his left butt cheek. He slid his hand over the graceful creature, caressing the skin, feeling as if he were sending a caress to his lover with the sensual movement. Feeling a shiver of anticipation, he removed his hand and continued to dress.

~~~~~~

They made their way to the couch, drinks in hand, when Mac stopped their progress with a gentle hand to Methos' shoulder. Methos paused and faced his lover, letting his expression question without words. Mac opened his arms in invitation, unsurprised when his lover obligingly stepped into his offered embrace.

He took a moment to breath in the scent of the other man, letting his body experience the comfortable fit as Methos molded against him. Methos pressed his lips against Mac's neck, content to experience all that was his lover, when the Scottish accent drifted to his ear. " Know what tomorrow is, Methos?"

"Um, thursday? " Methos whispered back huskily, more intent on kissing the strong neck of his mate than discussing the days of the week.

"Our anniversary," came the unexpected whispered reply.

Methos pulled back, looking at Mac in disbelief, "it is?"

"Um, six months tomorrow,” he murmured while advancing on Methos' unprotected mouth. Methos took the kiss and returned it hungrily, letting Mac's soft velvety tongue touch and caress every part of his mouth. He felt his sex harden with the incredible intimacy as their tongues danced and mated, sliding together in the warm moist haven. They pulled apart to gasp for breath, allowing Mac to pant into his partner's ear. "I have a present for you."

Methos laughed, rubbing his palm against the protruding fabric of Mac's jeans. "Yeah, I see and an impressive gift it is, too. Did you put a bow around it for me?"

Mac laughed back and squeezed him into a crushing embrace. "You get that present every day. I have something else for you."

"Really? What? Where is it?" Methos asked while shooting glances in all directions around the loft.

Mac grabbed his partner's arm and pulled him to the bed. "Not there. Over here.”

Methos followed obediently, his curiosity piqued along with his arousal. He watched while Mac disrobed, luxuriating in the sensual display as every inch was exposed, his breath quickening in his chest when Mac stood before him naked, his sex bobbing in the air, hard and needy.

"Jesus, Duncan," he whispered in awe, as his lover advanced towards him again.

Mac gathered him into another embrace, gently nibbling on his lips before he let him go and slowly turned. Methos watched, mesmerized while Mac turned, bending across the foot of the bed and exposing his buttocks.

Methos looked at the man before him, his perfect body exposed and positioned for use, and sucked in a deep breath at the beauty displayed. He let his eyes roam over the broad back, down to the perfect round cheeks, then froze when he came to the graceful creature decorating Duncan’s left buttock.

Mac held himself still, his stomach quivering with anxiety while his lover drank in his site. Then he heard an awed, "Duncan" whispered close to his ear and gentle fingers traced the tattoo on his cheek. “It's so beautiful. Why?"

Mac straightened up and faced Methos, looking into his face and finding acceptance and love. “Because it's as mythical and magical as you are. Because its power, beauty and grace signify everything you are to me."

Methos caressed his lover's face lovingly, feeling the softness of the newly shaved skin, and stepped close to whisper soft kisses across his lips. Stepping back, he touched Mac's lips with gentle fingertips, and gazed at him with love, "thank-you, Duncan."

Mac kissed the fingers brushing his lips, “I love you."

"I know, Duncan. And I love you. So much." He began to undress, his eyes never leaving his lover’s face, until they both stood naked. It started with a kiss, tenderness replacing the former hunger, until they had touched and caressed every inch of the other's body. Methos turned Duncan gently over and placed soft kisses down his back until he reached the proud cheeks. He massaged each firmly, kissing the warm flesh until he reached the tattoo. He nipped at it lightly, then sucked gently until the skin was lightly bruised.

Duncan wriggled his butt and moaned, signaling to his lover he was ready for more. He felt a lubricated finger enter him first, lightly stretching him.

"Methos," he groaned, straining from the light touch. Then his prostate was caressed and he quivered. Methos added a second finer, continuing the maddening stroking and stretching until he heard his partner whimper with distress.

Slowly, Duncan felt himself being filled, his lover's body completing him in a way he never imagined possible. He circled his cock with his own hand, letting himself thrust into the pressure while his lover's cock thrust deep inside him.

Methos thrust deep and hard, feeling the pressure increase inside his loins. He looked at the magnificent man under him, marveling at the beauty and strength of such a being, before capturing the sight of the mystical unicorn ready for flight on the perfect butt cheek. 'God', he sighed and reached out a hand to capture its strength with his own. He closed his eyes and let the power of the moment carry them into orgasm, their cries mingling into the still air while their bodies shuddered with release.

They held each other close, their bodies now cooled, muscles relaxed and heavy with sated pleasure.

"You think you'll ever be sorry someday, Duncan?"

Mac shifted to look at his lover." Sorry about what?"

"The tattoo. I mean, if anything ever happened to us." He shrugged.

"Methos, I love you. I'll always love you, but to answer your question -- no, I won't be sorry. No matter what happens in the future, I'll always feel blessed from knowing you. The unicorn will always be a symbol of how special you are. What about you?"

"What, sorry?" Methos smiled and shrugged. "You're my knight, Duncan ; always will be. No, never sorry."

 

Finis


End file.
